He exits without a kiss—and I’m silently happy—as another couple enters. The brisk wind whips around the warm café, and I inhale, red cheeks cooling.
My eyes track them. They’re normal enough—bulky sweaters, big coats, tall boots—and one holds a bookbag. They don’t look at me, smiling at the overhead décor. I follow them to the back as the woman points at one picture—something black and white—Killian could paint better. But nothing strikes me as odd about their mannerisms—it’s almost predictable.
And that’s why my brain clocks it, adrenaline thumping through my veins. It’s too normal—toorehearsed. I’ve been watching for attacks my entire life—and my alarm bells are screaming.
Breathing short, I slowly turn back around and hunt for a small mirror. At the top corner, a reflector sits, a way for the kitchen staff to see around the corner, maneuvering around the open farm tables and rowdy crowds. At the right angle, I can see the couple.
Tapping the table, I judge the thickness. Relatively big, it’ll hold against bullets. But I’ll have to duck to the exit when they start firing.
It’s not great chances, but I’ve faced worse. Wrapping my hand around the fork, I plant my foot, ready to jump.
Killian drops before me, a slap of mint hitting me in the face. Freshly dressed, his hair falls around his face, still heavy with snow. Those dark eyes, which must have been born from the devil himself, peer at me, a lick of anger making them flicker with unholy madness.
I react before I think better of it—stabbing the fork at his outstretched hand.
He moves out of the way effortlessly. The tips of the silverware plunge into the solid wood, the sound eaten up by the cafe.
Killian’s lips quirk as he teases, “You can do better than that.”
Seriously?
“Lean closer and maybe I’ll slice your neck with my butter knife.”
Those soulless eyes crinkle at the corners, glancing back at me as he licks his bottom lip. “Don’t say things to turn me on, Princess. We both know my cock gets hard when you’re murderous. And I’m already pissed enough as it is.”
Shifting, I look away, knowing my cheeks are bright red now. His smirk grows.
“What are you mad about?”
He glances around. “I wonder if your boyfriend would be happy to know that three days ago you were leaking my cum, or if that’s his kink to know someone else was fucking his girl?”
I kick out at his shin, glancing around. “Lower yourfuckingtone.”
“Why?” He smirks. “Afraid someone will hear how you liked to be filled up against your will?”
“Funny, coming from someone who came back to the mansion smelling like aftershave.” Glaring, I rip the fork out of the grain. “What do you want?”
Rolling his eyes, he reclines, looking over my shoulder. “I think I made it abundantly clear you’re never to be alone.”
“And I think I made it abundantly clear: I don’t need your protection.”
His jaw clenches. “You keep saying things like that. But for some reason, I don’t believe it. Maybe it’s because I remember how your cunt milks my dick when I’m inside you?”
I kick him again, and he barely winces.He’s in rare form.
Killian frowns at my plate. “Why are you eating a Caesar salad?”
“Because it’s lunchtime.”
“Right.” He goes to the checkout counter, standing in front of a large case containing delicious pastries. Danishes, croissants, donuts, and more all sparkle under the soft lights.
My eyes look in the mirror, ignoring him. So far, the couple hasn’t moved. They’re looking at menus, blending in, but I see the nervous twitch of their fingers. The way they stare without reading.
They’re waiting.
A plate drops before me, a gooey chocolate croissant steaming on it.
My stomach rumbles as I push it back. I’m a sucker for chocolate, but right now?—
